


Old Acquaintances I - Levaindil Autumnleaf

by Hedonick



Series: Battle for Azeroth: Biographies [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Suicide, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:28:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27029599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedonick/pseuds/Hedonick
Summary: Once a simple farstrider dedicated to the defence of Quel’Thalas, Levaindil Autumnleaf sets out on new adventures: Zandalar awaits her!Soon after her arrival, she unexpectadly meets an old acquaintance; a male sin'dorei she came to know after the invasion of the Scourge, before he vanished with Prince Kael'thas in Outland.Will Levaindil be able to get accostumed to the heavy changes he has undergone since the Third War? What will happen to them and the Horde, if the tentions between the Sylvanas Loyalists and the Saurfang Revolutionists continue to grow?
Series: Battle for Azeroth: Biographies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1972672
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Old Acquaintances I - Levaindil Autumnleaf

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> I'm no role player, but I've recently noticed that it's much more fun to me to play a character with a proper back story. At the beginning of this project I only planned to write down some short notes for my main characters' résumés, but since I also call myself an amateur writer, those soon developed a life of their own and grew into something bigger.  
> This is going to be the first out of five biography-like character portraits I would like to share with you. Since each is self-contained, you have to expect some overlaps and repetitions between the different parts, but at the same time it should still stay interesting, since the point of view changes - and different people experience the same events differently. At first, a wide part of the story will - admittedly - only retell the lore of Battle for Azeroth, but let me assure you: the further you read, the more original the story will become.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> PS: A shout-out also to https://wow.gamepedia.com/Wowpedia. I spent a lot of time reading their articles to help me catch up with lore-aspects related to my biographies. Couldn't have done it without their help!

Almost the whole first century of her young high elf life passed by unchallenged and devoid of any wars. The Amani trolls who had been native to the country had been beaten into submission with the help of human allies millennia ago, and since those days Quel’Thalas had flourished in an era of peace.  
Ever since her earliest childhood days Levaindil Autumnleaf had spent most of her time with a bow in her hands, running through the colorful forests surrounding Silvermoon City. That she joined the rangers as soon as she came of age didn’t surprise anyone who knew her however superficially. But with this decision, her life of peace was also doomed to come to an end rather sooner than later.

After some skirmishes to help out the newly formed Alliance between the human nations against the Horde, her first real test in battle came, when the Amani trolls tried to retake the Eversong with the help of the forces of the orc Orgrim Doomhammer. The attack was stopped at the walls of Silvermoon, where the trolls lost the support of their allies and were repelled, but throughout the following years there were noticeably more packs of trolls than before out in the forests, who had to be put back in their place by Levaindil and her squadron of ranger colleagues.

Her biggest challenge up to this point followed shortly after she finally advanced into the elite group of rangers: the farstriders. Although she wasn’t a direct subordinate of the forever famous Sylvanas Windrunner, Levaindil and her farstriders – together with their group of newly recruited militia fighters – also played an important part in slowing down the advance of the Scourge on its way to the Sunwell.  
Despite all the effort, eventually the destruction of the Sunwell couldn’t be prevented, but at least something good came for Levaindil in its aftermath: a short but intense friendship with one member of the militia, a young male elf named Valmin Crimsonwing. Sadly they lost track of each other only a few weeks after they first met, when Kael’thas Sunstrider returned to Silvermoon. The young elf was persuaded by the prince’s passion for the fate of the survivors of the Third War and decided to join the Sunfury forces, who later even traveled to Outland. Meanwhile Levaindil chose to remain in Quel’Thalas and to help with the (re)construction of the hard hit society of her people – now called sin’dorei, the blood elves.

The years after the incursion of the Scourge turned out to be a tough test for the strength of the farstriders, who had not only to deal with their own difficulties regarding the magic withdrawals caused by the destruction of the Sunwell, but also with an increased threat to their home caused by the remaining forces of the Scourge and Amani trolls, together with a sudden lack of allies. The situation took a turn for the better when Regent Lord Lor'themar Theron decided to join the sin’dorei with the Horde.

Seeing the vastly improved situation of her home, Levaindil was overcome by the slowly grown urge to explore more of the world outside of Quel’Thalas – the only country she had known for the past century of her still young life; an option that had now arisen through the newly forged confederation. She was one of the first farstriders who volunteered to accompany the Horde on their renewed war campaign in Northrend that aimed to end the Lich King’s reign once and for all.  
After the fall of the Lich King, Levaindil didn’t just end her services to the Horde – quite the contrary. Following the Cataclysm she took part in the events that lead to the victory against the mad Dragon Aspect Deathwing, she fought at the sharp end of the war against the Alliance in Pandaria, supported Vol’jins rebellion against the corrupted Horde Warchief Garrosh Hellscream and traced the later after his escape from justice with the joined troops of the Horde and the Alliance through the reopened Dark Portal into the alternate timeline and the world of Draenor.  
This was an adventure like none she had ever experienced; the Iron Horde – who started to subjugate the whole of Draenor under the influence of Garrosh Hellscream – had to be impeded and when this goal was finally about to be grasped, the warlock Gul’Dan even summoned demons of the Burning Legion and allied the remains of the Iron Horde with them; a new and yet stronger enemy that had to be overcome.  
While Archimonde, the Demon Lord and leader of the Burning Legion’s invasion in Draenor could be utterly destroyed in the end, the messing around with the timelines still caused further trouble for Azeroth. Alternate Gul’Dan was tossed into the world as the last act of Archimonde and took up the task in which the Gul’Dan of Azeroth’s timeline had failed: he reopened the portal in the Tomb of Sargeras on the Broken Isles sealed long ago and thereby allowed the Burning Legion to assault Azeroth once more.

As a participant in the battle for the Broken Shore, Levaindil witnessed firsthand the failed attempt of the joint Horde and Alliance forces to confront Gul’Dan and to reseal the portal. Overrun by an immensely large ambush of demons, she and her Horde allies had to retreat further and further, until Sylvanas Windrunner – the highest commander still fit for action – decided to abandon the battlefield as the only way to prevent the complete destruction of the Horde forces.

Still shaken by the many deaths she had witnessed and the loss of numerous friends within the army, Levaindil made a wondrous discovery while she was attending the funeral ceremony of the fallen Warchief Vol’jin. Also present at the ceremony were some envoys of a strange, newly emerged faction of warriors called Illidari. Apparently they had belonged to an elite army fighting against the Burning Legion under Illidan Stormrage, but had been imprisoned in the Vault of the Wardens alongside the body of their fallen leader who – widely believed to be completely insane and as dangerous as the demons he claimed to fight – had been slain atop the Black Temple in Outland six years ago. After recent events they had been freed by their jailers and were now supposed to fight once more against the Burning Legion side by side with the Horde and the Alliance.  
Levaindil was at the same time fascinated and terrified by their appearance: at first glance they didn’t look much different from any other blood elves, but further inspection suddenly showed unsettling details; like demon horns rising from their foreheads, scaly skin, fel-green glowing eyes and strange arcane tattoos that covered their whole body. The most disturbing was their ability to transform into something not unlike a full, winged demon in battle – as Levaindil herself observed when Legion assassins suddenly attacked the gathered Horde leadership and were only stopped by the interference of the demon hunters. After this demonstration of alliance, the Illidari were gladly accepted into the midst of the Horde by the new Warchief Sylvanas Windrunner, but they still earned distrustful stares and were followed by shocked whispers wherever they went inside Orgrimmar City.

Not unlike some of the other citizens, Levaindil was more so occupied with watching the Illidari after the baffled assassination attempt than with partaking in the conclusion of the interrupted ceremony. While doing so, one of the strange sin’dorei caught her attention and triggered a sudden memory.  
Disbelievingly she approached, “Valmin? Valmin Crimsonwing?”  
Her wondering voice made the figure actually turn its head – a horned head, and its gaze – as far as Levaindil could tell, since the demon hunter was wearing a blindfold – took her in for a short moment, accompanied by a deep frown.  
This was all she got for an answer because in the next moment, a newly arrived colleague of the demon hunter whispered something into his ear and he suddenly turned and left.  
Gathering all her courage, she addressed the remaining Illidari, “Excuse me, what’s the name of the one that just went away?”  
After some shared glances, a female demon hunter answered in an unexpectedly deep and raspy voice: “Acharin. He calls himself Acharin.”

Confused she let herself be swept away by a group of citizens, absentmindedly fiddling with the long braid of light brown hair falling over her shoulder.  
Had she been mistaken? How would this even be possible? When Kael’thas – somehow twisted and driven mad – who had allied himself and his army with the Burning Legion, had been declared a betrayer after his attack on Quel’Danas, she had believed her former short time friend long dead or worse. But if he somehow had abandoned the insane prince and had run over to Illidan….  
He had at least recognized the name, Levaindil was sure of that.

In the months thereafter she wasn’t able to get any answers to her questions though, and the more she had to work with the demon hunters on the Broken Isles, the less certain she became whether she actually wanted to know. All the Illidari seemed to be extraordinarily hard and cold, completely absorbed by their crusade against the Burning Legion and disturbingly fixated on their leader – the one and only, somehow resurrected – Illidan Stormrage himself.  
The latter attribute would even fit her memory of Valmin; when they had been busy trying to rebuild Silvermoon after the war against the Scourge, she had – pleased at that time – soon noticed that her new companion was a fiercely loyal elf that followed orders easily. She had never thought about the possibility of what would happen, if the one he followed suddenly turned mad. Most likely, even if that demon hunter called Acharin was indeed her former friend Valmin, he wasn’t the same elf anymore as the one she had know, a theory supported by the fact that he showed no more interest in her on those occasions when their fight against the Legion made them run into each other again.

The hunt for the Pillars of Creation on the other hand went well and finally the Legion’s portal in the Tomb of Sargeras was sealed once more with their help. The war against the Legion however didn’t stop there, but was instead continued in their base of operation under the vanguard of the Illidari and the followers of Prophet Velen – on Argus, the original home of the draenei that had been completely twisted and corrupted by the Burning Legion. Only after the defeat of the world-soul Argus, the freeing of the spirits of the titan Pantheon and the disposal of Sargeras – the creator and leader of the Burning Legion – the third (and hopefully final) invasion of the Burning Legion on Azeroth was declared over.  
Illidan Stormrage remained – to everyone’s but mainly his demon hunters’ surprise – as Sargeras’ jailer at the Seat of the Pantheon, and therefore his Illidari simply joined the regular military forces of the Horde and the Alliance.

The fight against the Burning Legion hadn’t passed over Azeroth without leaving traces, the most obvious thereof the immensely huge sword the Dark Titan Sargeras had driven into the world in Silithus right before his imprisonment. There also lay the source of the next conflict Levaindil saw herself involved in: bleeding out, the power of the world-soul Azeroth crystallized as Azerite, soon becoming a grimly fought over new resource for the Horde and Alliance.  
Planning ahead, Warchief Sylvanas decided on a preemptive strike against Darnassus, the night elves capital and the linchpin of the Alliance’s Azerite shipments between the two main continents. But something went horribly wrong and the campaign ended with the complete ruination of the impressive World Tree.

Returning home to Silvermoon for a short furlough after the attack, Levaindil felt soiled and guilty to her bones. Never before had she experienced anything like this. Yes, war had never been something to enjoy, but it had been necessary to ensure their survival or to preserve the balance between the two factions to prevent worse – this was different though. Not only was the burning of the Tree itself a sacrilege, the home and lives of countless innocent night elves and Gilneans had also been destroyed for ever.  
The original plan, the capturing and occupation of Darnassus had sounded bold but reasonable, but now rumors grew that the burning of Teldrassil had been Sylvanas’ plan all along. Levaindil couldn’t believe this. Sylvanas had been a high elf like herself and once even been allied with the Alliance. She had fought with her against the Scourge, was slain by the Lich King and revived as an undead banshee, but she had broken the bonds that held her and had returned to the Horde alongside the other free willed undead, the Forsaken. Sylvanas Windrunner was a hero! The legendary former ranger-general would never go that far. Would she? It had to have been an accident. But now the Horde would have to face the consequences.

The retaliatory attack of the Alliance wasn’t long in coming. As Darnassus was the linchpin of the Alliance on Kalimdor, Undercity was its counterpart for the Horde on the Eastern Kingdoms.  
King Anduin Wrynn himself lead the Alliance’s forces into the battle for Lordaeron, as the lands above the Forsaken’s capital were called, that had once belonged to the human kingdoms. The siege didn’t go well for the Horde. The Alliance was able to drive them back steadily and Levaindil already expected a call to retreat and to abandon the keep ruins, when the order arrived to blighten the battlefield.  
Shocked Levaindil stared at the toxic green wagons that were now brought forth. The deadly gas wouldn’t only kill the Alliance soldiers, but also their own!  
She refused the sprayer that one of the undead offered and instead focused on distributing gas-masks to as many soldiers as she could reach.  
Too few. All around her, people were collapsing, coughing, dying. Kaldorei, tauren, humans and orcs, dwarfs, trolls, draenei and sin’dorei alike – but then, the fallen Horde soldiers began to rise again as undead puppets.  
Distantly Levaindil realized that this tactic by the Warchief would turn the tide, but another part of her was too horrified to move and far too distracted to notice one of the retreating Alliance’s trebuchet volleys that flew into her direction. Suddenly the world turned black.

Levaindil was lucky things didn’t turn out worse; she regained consciousness back in Orgrimmar with only minor injuries left after a pandaren priestess had tended to her. Members of her company had been able to recover her from the battlefield after the incident and she had been evacuated together with countless other severely wounded. One of her fellow combatants briefed her on what had happened after she had fallen: just when the undead soldiers had almost overrun the Alliance forces, Jaina Proudmoore had arrived at the scene with a flying battleship – Levaindil almost felt regret to not have witnessed this herself – and had neutralized the Blight and the resurrection of the undead with a spell, the walls of Lordaeron had been breached and Warchief Sylvanas cornered; somehow though she had escaped and the whole ruins of the keep and the city below had been lost in a gigantic eruption of Blight.  
Another draw between the two war forces; another city lost and destroyed.

Still dazed from the news, Levaindil joined the members of her company for an evening at one of the taverns in the city. Once more, many of the faces that had accompanied her through the past months on similar occasions were now missing – gone forever. By a hair she herself had become one of those missing faces; if she and her unit hadn’t been deployed so far in the back of the defending lines and thus in reach of gas-masks….  
This was one of the many topics that caused a generally depressed mood between the drinking companions. Another was the loss of High Overlord Varok Saurfang and the rumors surrounding his capture by the Alliance. Some tongues claimed he hadn’t actually been captured but instead had surrendered himself to King Anduin Wrynn after an argument between him and the Warchief regarding her battle tactics. Levaindil didn’t have any trouble believing this; Saurfang had often talked about the dwindling honor of the Horde – especially after the burning of Teldrassil – and what had happened on the battlefield in Lordaeron wouldn’t sit well with him.  
Admittedly she herself was starting to wonder if all the horrors Sylvanas had lived through as a banshee hadn’t left her partially insane. Yet bolder rumors even claimed the whole battle had been nothing else than a setup by the Warchief to eliminate the Alliance leadership – a plan that had failed in this case, since they had escaped the explosion at the last minute.  
All in all cause enough to drown dark thoughts in Silvermoon Port for one evening.

Despite the rising doubts in her Warchief, some weeks later Levaindil accepted a new assignment coming directly from Sylvanas. A troll princess from a distant continent and her adviser had been captured by the Alliance on their way to start negotiations with the Horde.  
The rescue mission was a success and a deal was struck with Princess Talanji of the Zandalari Empire: in exchange for the Horde’s help against rising threats to her father’s throne, the Horde would gain the help of the impressive Zandalari fleet against the Alliance. An embassy was established in Dazar’alor and portals set up between the two capitals, though many Horde ambassadors – like Levaindil herself – preferred to stay in Zandalar permanently.

The seat of the Zandalari God King was simply gorgeous. Dazar’alor grew as an at least seven-stepped massive pyramid into the sky, overgrown by plants and adorned with typical troll artistry in stone or gold, and was surrounded by rivers with several waterfalls and flourishing jungle. Whenever Levaindil arrived at the Zandarali capital, her occasionally felt nostalgia for the forests in Quel’Thalas dispersed.  
However, far less pleasant than their new accommodation was the development of her efforts to press ahead with the tasks set for the Horde by the Empire. It weren’t missing options or native allies that hindered her, rather the enemies they confronted proved to be far stronger than expected. Right this day she had more or less fully spent trying to simply stay alive through basic quests that usually took her at most an hour or two. It was exhausting, but now she wasn’t able to fall asleep regardless – too many thoughts tumbling around in her head.

Frustrated because her up to now more than adequate fighting skills suddenly seemed to have become insufficient against the enemies in this new land, Levaindil was wandering abstractedly through the even at night-time marvelous Pyramid City when she came across an unexpected attendant. From the flight point that connected the lower trade district and its inns with the plateau in front of the Great Seal, her feet had carried her down to the Royal Armory with its dummies for combat practice. On the terrace in front of the entrance facing away from her towards the environs stood a demon hunter she instantly recognized.  
For a moment, she was unsure how to react. She still sometimes wondered if she had been wrong all those months ago, but on the other hand, the moment to ask seemed to have passed equally long ago. The option to simply move away without being noticed was taken from her, when he suddenly turned around as if he had felt her presence. Her decision was made quickly, instead of setting out on an awkward retreat, she decided to advance.  
“Hello. That’s a surprise. I didn’t expect to meet anyone else up and about up here this late.”  
“Sleep eluded me so I went looking for something to distract myself”, he answered as she stepped beside him, accompanied by an unconscious movement of his hand as if to adjust the position of one of his shirtsleeves.  
Too often she had observed the exact same gesture on her former friend whenever he had been caught off guard by something. “You are him, aren’t you?”  
He sighed. “If you mean the young elf you knew as Valmin Crimsonwing… you are wrong. He became someone else many years ago in a different world, Levaindil Autumnleaf.”  
“So I was right all along!”, she exclaimed suddenly upset, ignoring his cryptic comment. He even remembered her full name! “Why didn’t you react to me all those times in Orgrimmar or on the Broken Isles? I thought our past experience would at least be worth an acknowledgment!”  
He wavered before responding: “There is a saying among us demon hunters: if a memory of the past starts haunting you, you either kill it, if it attacks you, or you ignore it and move on – otherwise it will soon become your demise.”  
A tumble of feelings washed through her following his words and ended in a hurt rage that made her leash out without thinking. Her slap caught him seemingly unprepared. “By the sun, I’m sorry!”, was her immediate reaction, but then she reconsidered: “No, why am I even apologizing?! That’s simply something horrible to say!”  
Her confused, furious reaction actually made him chuckle and the next thing she knew was that she was lunging at him.

It wasn’t a fair fight, and Levaindil wasn’t sure if it could even be called a fight; she was subdued in a heartbeat, neatly pinned under him at both wrists and ankles. Her resistance was futile and stopped as fast as her temper cooled down. Instead – staring up at his familiar and at the same time alien face with those daunting horns rising above the black blindfold – a sudden flash of anxiety sprouted in her.  
He still hadn’t uttered another sound, but now that she lay motionless, he confessed seriously: “You are right. I am deeply sorry.” He released her and lifted her to her feet effortlessly, driving off her nervousness. “I guess considering our current situation that saying is invalid..., but while we still fought the Burning Legion, any reminder of our past lives could have serious consequences. Slight doubts in what we were doing could lead to the demon’s victory.”  
That made sense. Somehow. Still somewhat embarrassed about her behavior – she wasn’t usually that impulsive – and his honesty, an uncomfortable silence began to grow between them.  
“But you really are a horrible close combatant.”  
That almost made her repeat her former mistake, but she caught herself at the last instance and instead admitted: “Yes, I know. I guess that’s what brought me here in the first place.” She looked him up and down. “You wouldn’t by chance be willing to train me in melee combat?"

They started her training the next evening, although he mocked her at first. A hunter usually was better off fighting from a distance than picking up a sword or polearm, but Acharin – as he insisted that she should call him now – still took her request seriously.  
With the additional combat training, her progression with the tasks in Zandalar and Kul Tiras, where the Alliance was trying to win allies on their part, actually got easier. Meanwhile her relationship with the demon hunter slowly converged into something like a renewed cautious friendship. Alternately she told him about her adventures as a soldier of the Horde and he explained to her how the young warrior Valmin that joined Kael’thas Sunstrider’s army had turned into the demon hunter Acharin.  
While most of his story had her sympathy, other parts still alienated her and she suddenly understood or rather remembered the reasons behind the irritated stares they drew at times when they spent some spare time together after the training – the Illidari still had a reputation of being cold-hearted, demon devouring maniacs any sane person was better off avoiding. Yet to her his blindfold and horns soon became something common. Some of his beliefs on the other hand were a whole different story.

One evening while they once more trained together, the Alliance suddenly assaulted the direct environs of Dazar’alor and – although off duty – they decided to join the defenders. In the end it was just a small skirmish, but it resulted in Levaindil observing for the first time how Acharin transformed into his demon form. He had never done that in training and she tried not to stare, but she still noticed that the transformation back into his elf form seemed to cause him pain.  
Her worried inquiry lead to him telling her that he had also participated in the battle for Lordaeron, and had almost died inhaling some of the Blight. Probably he’d only survived and hadn’t been resurrected as a brainless undead because demon hunters were quite a lot harder to kill than the average soldier. In any case, ever since he had recovered from this injury, he had had slight troubles with this strange aftereffect, as he called it. Nothing to worry about, but apparently none of his Illidari colleagues could explain it any more than he could.  
Since they had already braced the topic, she also decided to ask him about his thoughts on the Warchief’s recent decisions in battle, in the hope to maybe find someone else to share her doubts with. There though, she had been gravely mistaken. While she by now had to fully agree with Saurfang and condemned the tactic, Acharin simply shrugged:  
“She is our Warchief... and as her soldiers, we are nothing else than tools she can use as she thinks appropriate. If to sacrifice some of us benefits her plans, we should be willing to do as she decides.”  
Despite her incredulous reaction, he didn’t reconsider his statement in the slightest.

Thenceforward she stayed careful around him regarding topics that directly touched her political opinion or the Warchief herself and though she didn’t like it, kept the experience of one of her recent special assignments that still troubled her sleep to herself.  
Together with the Dark Ranger Lyana she had been sent to Stormwind and its environs to investigate the recently discovered escape of Varok Saurfang from the Alliance stockades. Although Saurfang had taken position against the Warchief and had refused his rescue when the Zandalari Princess had been freed, Sylvanas didn’t want him – an idol of the public – to fall back into enemy hands.  
Following his tracks, Levaindil and Lyana had soon been able to identify Saurfang’s hiding place. To Levaindil’s irritation, she had then been ordered by the Dark Ranger not to take any further action, while Lyana had wanted to report back to the Warchief first. Mildly upset about simply being left behind in the middle of enemy territory with no further instructions, Levaindil had lingered indecisively after Lyana’s departure, when a voice from somewhere behind had suddenly called her name.  
Zekhan, a young troll and loyal companion of the High Overlord had approached her and revealed that the Dark Ranger had lied to her; Saurfang was in danger. Levaindil had immediately felt that her subsequent actions would strongly influence her future affiliation with the two growing fractions within the Horde, but in the end the decision had not been a hard one. She and Zekhan had arrived just in time to aid Varok Saurfang against a whole delegation of Dark Rangers under the command of Lyana who had intended to take him into custody for consecrations with the Alliance and treason against the Dark Lady. Thankful for her help, Saurfang had seen to obscuring her doings this day and Levaindil had been able to return to the Warchief without arising too much suspicion.

When the Banshee Queen’s plan to use the resurrected Derek Proudmoore – Lady Jaina’s brother – as a living weapon against his family became known, Levaindil undertook another attempt to convince Acharin of the increasing wrongness in the Warchief’s leadership. Yet while she was aghast by the idea of Sylvanas breaking and controlling the newly Forsaken’s mind and hence doing exactly as the Lich King had once done with her, Acharin considered this simply an efficient move to strike a huge blow against the Alliance leadership.  
His seemingly unchangeable, ruthless way of thinking disappointed Levaindil even more since she had come to appreciate his company almost as dearly as in the old days and she was increasingly afraid that at some point, the fissures between the Loyalists and the Revolutionists would lead to bigger issues than steamed up vespertine discussions in a tavern.

Meanwhile rumors of her actions regarding Saurfang’s escape still seemed to have spread between those who secretly opposed Sylvanas, because one day she was invited to a meeting with Baine Bloodhoof in Plunder Harbor. It turned out that the High Chieftain wanted to rescue Derek Proudmoore before his turning to reunite him with his family. Levaindil didn’t have to think twice and promised her help, though inwardly praying to the restored Sunwell that they wouldn’t – through some cruel turn of events – run into any Loyalist she knew, especially not a certain someone.  
They were lucky and returned unharmed after delivering Derek at the coast at the ruins of Theramore to his sister, shrouding their actions in the aftermath. The cover-up didn’t work fully as intended though. Scant two weeks later she and Acharin ended up in a shouting match after Baine Bloodhoof’s arrest at Warfang Hold in Stormsong Valley, where the Warchief had made the High Chieftain admit to his role in Derek Proudmoor’s disappearance. The Illidari rebuked her for her stubbornness not to understand Sylvanas’ position, that as a leader she had to move against subjects that undermined her plans to prevent their doom, while Levaindil couldn’t forgive him his blindness regarding the Banshee Queen’s increasing overbearance.  
As a result of their argument Levaindil wasn’t as unhappy as she could have been when he told her the next day that they would have to pause their training sessions for a while, because he and most of the other demon hunters – indisputably among the strongest fighters the Horde could muster – had been newly tasked with concentrating their efforts against Azshara in Nazjatar. The naga Queen had suddenly taken measures against the Horde as well as the Alliance and now kept a significant part of their war forces hostage in her capital.  
Despite her continuing disappointment in him Levaindil still couldn’t suppress an arising worry. “Are you sure you want to go with the others? Fighting against these foes will require all your resources ….” Lately his troubles concerning his Metamorphosis had gotten worse, up to the point where he either couldn’t easily enter his demon form at will or had to concentrate heavily to quit it again, leading him to avoid it entirely.  
He got her hint straightaway. “I’ll figure out something”, he returned, unwittingly adjusting his nonexistent sleeve, “When worse comes to worse I’ll just have to grit my teeth. It’s not unmanageable after all.”  
“Just don’t get yourself killed, yes? No one apart from me is allowed to do that”, she insistently requested and coaxed a short laugh out of him with her tease, before he promptly became serious again.  
“I won’t. But you also have to promise me not to do anything that could put you with your back to a wall.”  
“I’ll be as careful as you”, she insured with an uneasy farewell smile.

Her statement didn’t stop her from setting out to a rescue mission initiated by Regent Lord Lor'themar Theron to save Baine Bloodhoof from his prison in the Underhold in Orgrimmar to prevent his execution ordered by Sylvanas that had been predicted in a vision.  
Once again the whole undertaking went almost suspiciously well: together with Varok Saurfang and Thrall, receiving unexpected additional help by Jaina Proudmoore herself, SI:7 Spymaster Mathias Shaw and an Alliance champion, they were able to escape the underground prison, delivering a gravely weakened Baine back to his family in Thunder Bluff.

The following days were pure torture. Levaindil knew that the Revolutionist Horde leadership had started taking action against Sylvanas and her Loyalists, most likely even together with the Alliance, but she couldn’t quite get to the information. Furthermore everyone in Dazar’alor at least seemed to have silently agreed that the fracturing within the Horde had to be prevented from getting officially acknowledged, leading to a superficial normality while everywhere the tension was high. A small relief for Levaindil was the continued absence of Acharin and his combatants, who were still fully engaged in the endeavors in Nazjatar that had reportedly just achieved some breakthrough.

Finally the request came to gather with the Regent Lord and shal’dorei First Arcanist Thalyssra at the docks, to be ported directly to Razor Hill in front of Orgrimmar to join the Revolutionists willing to fight with the already set up Alliance forces and Saurfang’s assembled allies.  
Here too, the mood was grim. No one actually wanted to see Horde fight against Horde, not even the Alliance under King Wrynn. The latter was the bigger surprise to Levaindil, but it seemed, accompanying the discussions of the siege, the present leadership of both factions had at last recognized that instead of fighting each other over their destroyed homes, they could instead join in the fight for their shared home – Azeroth.  
Reaching the doors of Orgrimmar and gazing upon Sylvanas’ supporters manning the walls of the orcs capital, Levaindil could observe how the determination on Saurfang’s face to take the city varnished completely and was replaced by something else. A sober discussion started between Thrall and the High Overlord before the older orc stepped forward. His voice carried effortlessly over the field as he challenged Sylvanas Windrunner personally to Mak’gora.  
An absolute silence followed his words, eventually broken by the rattling of the opening of the front door of Orgrimmar and the emerging of the Dark Lady herself. Breathlessly and fearfully Levaindil traced every movement of the two combatants. At first Saurfang didn’t seem to stand a chance, but then a profound exchange of words started to accompany their exchange of blows, culminating in Sylvanas’ resounding exclamation forsaking the Horde – forsaking everyone.  
The Banshee Queen noticed her provoked slip immediately, when a collective wince went through all Horde members on both fronts, but instead of backing down, she ended what she had started, blasted Saurfang with a burst of foreign magic and – after this dishonorable act – vanished as a shroud of shadows into the sky.  
Shocked by this sudden turn of events and Varok Saurfang’s death, all the parties involved agreed in following the High Overlords last wish. The siege ended without any further bloodshed and Orgrimmar opened its doors, leading to a reunion of Loyalists and Revolutionists after Sylvanas’ betrayal.  
Following Thrall’s and Anduin’s passionate speeches over Saurfang’s corpse lying in state, restrained but hopeful celebrations started and the freely flowing spirits helped to initiate a mending of the recent fissures between former allies.

Levaindil returned to Dazar’alor the day after with the promising expectation of finding Acharin as fast as possible – maybe after a trip to Nazjatar – and finally settling their discords regarding Sylvanas. She was still trying to decide where to search for him first, when a familiar voice asked tauntingly:  
“Looking for your pet demon?”  
Levaindil turned around and spotted Veen Rocketblade, the brilliant but rude goblin engineer of her company sitting on one of the benches in the hall of the Great Seal, as if he’d been waiting for her. “He’s not...”, she started, but let it drop, “Did you see Acharin?”  
“Oh yes”, Veen sneered, “Was hard overlooking them. He and some others of his fel-rotten pack didn’t take the news too well that Silvanas has pissed off without them. They went completely crazy and started attacking anyone in sight.”  
“What?!”, she stared at him in horror.  
“Guess you can count yourself lucky that he was overwhelmed by other half-demons that hadn’t gotten their brains fried instead of by some of us. They insisted that he’d yielded in the end”, he shrugged and twirled the curved dagger in his hand, “The others were put down like rabid dogs. Maybe better if they’d done him the same favor.”  
She had to swallow to find her voice again, “What did they… where did they bring him?”  
“They have some dungeons down besides the Armory. A warlock was sent there just in case they need someone banishing a demon, but I don’t think that will soon be necessary, even if they stitched him back together.”  
Feeling as if suddenly caught in a nightmare she started to run even before Veen had fully finished, taking a jump off the plateau that would have killed most others, but landing unharmed in a crouch thanks to her Disengage.

Some blinks of an eye later she arrived at the Armory where she almost collided with a departing female Illidari she’d seen before in Acharin’s company.  
“What happened?!” Levaindil asked out of breath, catching her at a wrist.  
“I already told that warlock everything I know”, the scaled figure growled, “He lost control. Happens sometimes if you grow careless. Nothing to be done about it. He can only help himself.” With that the demon hunter freed herself effortlessly and hopped over the balustrade, soaring quickly out of sight on leathery wings.  
Levaindil shook her head disbelievingly – How could the Illidari be so uncaring? Or had she just fled? – before she hurried on, past some uninterested Zandalari Enforcers and deeper into the pyramid to the dungeons.

It wasn’t hard to find the right cell. A rather old, white-haired orc warlock was standing right in front of one of the barred compartments and the magical shimmer of a banishing sphere shone around it, explaining why the cell door was actually standing wide open. Levaindil ignored the spell caster, stopped in front of the purple glow and stared afraid at the figure lying on the pallets.  
After Veen’s words she had already feared the worst, but she was still appalled to see the bloodstained bandages around Acharin’s right shoulder and one thigh, though that wasn’t even the worst. A strange black viscous liquid – blood?! – was slowly oozing from the tattoos on his arms and torso, further staining his braces and the thin mattress beneath him. He didn’t seem fully conscious, but was clearly suffering pain and moved from time to time as if having bad dreams. Determined to help him somehow she stepped forward.  
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you”, she glared at the arm that blocked her way, “Since you don’t have fel-blood in your veins, you can enter of course, but sometimes there are rather unpleasant side effects,” the warlock said.  
Upset about his interference and seemingly unsympathetic calm she asked: “Why hasn’t he even been healed properly?!”  
“We tried. Well, the shaman did, actually”, the orc explained in a grandfatherly voice, “He’s usually a fantastic healer, but our special case over there still didn’t fully respond to his treatment.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“After the Illidari was brought here, a paladin and a priest tried to heal him while he was still unconscious, but that worked even less. Those two simply wanted to give up, but I told them to bring a tauren friend of mine to try again.”  
“Oh”, Levaindil blushed, regretting her first judgment of the warlock, “Do you have any idea of what’s happening to Acharin? Why are his tattoos bleeding?!”  
“So, that’s his name”, the old spell caster peered to the pallets, “It started shortly after he came to for the first time. My friend tried healing again, but it didn’t work at all. One of the demon hunters reckoned it has something to do with him loosing control over the demonic powers bound within him. That’s why I installed the barrier… just in case.”  
Levaindil didn’t realize that she was crying until the old orc comfortingly patted her shoulder, sending a strange tickling through her body at the same time.  
“You can go to him now, if you want. But keep your guard. They mainly put him down here because the healers were afraid of troubles at the infirmary, but I’m not so sure if it stays that way if he hurts someone else now.”  
Nodding silently she passed through the purple shimmer, followed by the warlock and dropped to her knees besides Acharin. “I told you to be careful!”, she whispered still shakily. Listening to his labored breaths she hesitantly reached out, only to draw her hand back alerted. “He’s burning up!”  
Just then, maybe as a reaction to her voice, Acharin tossed his head once more from side to side, mumbling strange worlds Levaindil didn’t understand. Hearing scribbles behind her, she turned to the warlock that now had a jotter in his hands.  
“The fever fits with what the other Illidari said. He talked sometimes before, though not for any length of time till now. It’s always the same few sentences. Demonic, in case you wondered”, he turned a few pages, “I tried to translate it but couldn’t quite make it out, though some words bear a strong likeness to those we warlocks use in binding spells.”  
“Then he’s fighting it, right?”, Levaindil inferred hopefully.  
“I’m sure he does”, the warlock said reassuringly and then eyed her and Acharin for a moment. “You know, I could use a bite. Was here without a break since yesterday eve. If you don’t mind I’ll leave you with him for a spell. Maybe you’re able coax him out of his delirium for a while.”  
Levaindil agreed thankfully.

To her disappointment and concern she wasn’t successful though. Acharin stayed unresponsive while she still talked to him quietly, alternately telling him what had happened since he’d left for Nazjatar and urging him on not to give in to his demonic powers. From time to time he repeated the strange words she’d heard before, soon not much more than in an exhausted whisper. She decided to carefully clean up some of the strange black blood with a cold, soaked cloth, hoping to maybe help against his fever at the same time, and tried to instill some water into him.  
During the course of the afternoon and evening the warlock – called Drontash Felhand – showed up from time to time to ask her if she wanted to be relieved, but she declined gratefully and stayed with Acharin.

Shortly before midnight, the oozing of his tattoos finally stopped and the fever broke. Some time later she hurried to his side as he woke. “Hey, finally back with the living… and undead. You really had me worried”, she welcomed him, making an effort to sound cheerful.  
He turned his head in her direction and silently watched her for several heartbeats. “You shouldn’t have stayed here”, he began in a whisper, “It would have killed you, if it broke free, and....” He fell silent again, seemingly unwilling to complete the sentence.  
“And it didn’t”, Levaindil rounded off, “You contained it, so everything is alright again, yes?”  
He avoided her gaze, several times looking as if about to say something but dropping it again.  
Levaindil could only guess his thoughts, uncertain she corrected: “I mean…. I know that you were loyal to Sylvanas. I’m sorry she disappointed you – we all were. But now the Horde can choose a better way into the future.”  
He didn’t react much to her words and the emerging silence was only broken when he moved slightly, shielding his face with one forearm as if to hide it. “Sometimes I just wonder if…”, he started waveringly and broke off once more.  
“If… what?”, Levaindil inquired concernedly.  
He audibly took a deep breath, “If it wouldn’t have been better if we could have stayed at the Pantheon too.”  
“No! Surely not. That would have been as if you all just died!”, Levaindil exclaimed shocked, “How can you even think something like that?”  
He remained silent and offered her no answer to her question.

Worried, Levaindil regarded his by now dozing shape. Although his physical condition seemed to be on the mend, his state of mind was quite alarming. She had never before seen him in such a dark mood and nothing she said seemed able to lighten it up in the slightest. After a while his breathing changed again and she noticed that he was awake once more, staring into space looking haggard.  
“Do you have bad dreams?”, she asked considerately, “I could go fetch some herbs that help so you can rest properly. You have to sleep to get your strength back.” And maybe after a good nights sleep, his thoughts would also be less clouded.  
He slowly shook his head though, “They wouldn’t work… I don’t even know anymore why we’re still here.”  
The hopelessness in his voice almost brought tears to her eyes, “To fight”, she suggested uncertain and added more emphatically, “… to live!”  
“What for? The Burning Legion is gone… and Sylvanas simply abandoned us, the best tool she had to fight the Alliance. So what did she actually ever want with us if she didn’t need us in the end?”, he asked bitterly, “And what are we supposed to do now without her?”  
They continued to talk for the better part of the night, with him nodding off from time to time. The more he gave away the more she understood. Although she didn’t know herself what Sylvanas had planned – in the end it rather sounded as if she was fighting life itself and not just the Alliance – she tried to remind him that Illidan hadn’t just strived to stop the Burning Legion, most of all he had fought to protect their world, their home – and that was still an ongoing task. They just had to decide by themselves what had to be done and why, and most importantly what they should not do. Levaindil still wasn’t sure if she’d been able to convince him, but he’d at least started to respond more to her objections.  
Eventually, late into the night, she joined him in sleep, her head bedded on the edge of his pallets and haunted by clouded dreams.

She awoke getting gently jolted at one shoulder by the old warlock. It was already later in the morning and Valeera Sanguinar had come with an urgent message for her. Magni Bronzebeard, the Herald of Azeroth herself and Wrathion, the Black Prince had asked for her immediate assistance regarding the release of the Old God N’Zoth from his titan prison. Once more the world was on the edge of disaster!  
With a heavy heart she left Acharin, urging him one last time to consider her words and to get better. At least Drontash would keep him company, a fact that put her slightly at ease.

Her undertakings with the Speaker and the Black Dragon consumed nearly two days, traveling several times between Uldum, Silithus and the Kun-Lai Summit as well as the Vale of Eternal Blossoms in Pandaria. Exhausted from all the fighting after another rather short and troubled night she was finally discharged sometime in the second afternoon.

Arriving once again in Dazar’alor – with a new legendary cloak from Wrathion at her back – the first thing she did was to hurry to the dungeons. When she arrived though, no one was there. On her alarmed way out she came across the orc warlock who had clearly been looking for her.  
“I’m so sorry. I was only gone for some minutes, but when I came back a good hour ago, he’d vanished. By now I learned that a goblin visited him in my absence and shortly after our horned friend was seen taking the portal to Orgrimmar”, Drontash explained.  
Levaindil thanked him and was on her way again.

It didn’t take her long to find out what had happened in the orc capital. Several witnesses told her that in the morning, many demon hunters had gathered in front of the new War Council’s seat in Grommash Hold at the center of the Valley of Strength. Some had openly announced to remain loyal to Sylvanas and that they would leave the Horde as she had, that they would go looking for her and join her.  
There had been no violence, they had silently been let go. The larger group by far though – loyalists too as it showed, but the more resigned ones – had told the War Council that they would like to travel back to the Vault of the Wardens, from where they had been freed at the start of the Burning Legion’s invasion on the Broken Isles, to be imprisoned once more – by choice! They had invited all demon hunters, who secretly felt that their task in this life had already ended one and a half years ago with the imprisonment of Sargeras, to join them within the next hours and to travel with them, to be enveloped by Warden Crystal and to be put to eternal sleep once again, until maybe – one day – the world would need them again to fight a somehow returning Burning Legion.  
It seemed that rumors of what had happened in front of Grommash Hold had also traveled to Dazar’alor and Veen Rocketblade had been so kind as to inform Acharin. She was going to kill that little bugger the next time she saw him!  
Having learned of this, Levaindil was shortly after able to find one of the mages that had opened the portals to Azsuna, where the Vault of the Wardens lay. The undead spell caster could even remember that one demon hunter with long, black hair had been late for the departure and had – though nicely – forced one of the other mages to reopen an already closing portal to chase after his fel-touched colleagues.

Hearing this, a hollowness took hold of the place where Levaindil’s heart had been before. For a short time after their farewell yesterday morning, when her hand had unconsciously moved to brush away the silent tears that had leaked down his cheek and she had felt his pulse stir at her touch, she had believed that she still had a chance to draw him away from his cursed devotion, back to life, to her.  
Now it seemed she was nothing else than that silly girl some of her old ranger friends had called her kindheartedly for falling in love with a demon hunter, a demon hunter that had in their eyes – although for noble reasons – forsworn all worldly feelings and achievements in exchange for foul magical powers.  
For quite some time she hadn’t even believed them. Sin’dorei – or more likely all eves – didn’t fall in love easily. Long lives had a potential to result in many broken hearts if they weren’t guarded carefully, hence relationships always proceeded cautiously. But now she couldn’t deceive herself any longer and her heart spoke true.  
At first she wanted nothing more than to immediately ask the mage to open a portal for her too, but a still working reasonable part of her brain stopped her. To what end? She would arrive too late by hours to change anything and she doubted that the Wardens would be willing to open up one of the only just crafted Crystals simply to let a lovesick blood elf yell at one of their voluntary prisoners.  
But despite all the hollowness, there was still a tiny little bit of hope left in her. His reaction to her words – and gesture – hadn’t been the ones of someone who had once and for all forsworn life to blindly follow his kin and a lost destiny. Not much of anything she had come to know of him actually fit those prejudices. For now, she could only believe in what she had seen in him and wait.

Nonetheless, the subsequent hours she spent waiting in front of the Portal Room were painfully slow in passing, until already later into the evening she finally noticed a group of deadly graceful, tattooed figures emerge from the portal to Broken-Isles-Dalaran with a horned, black haired sin’dorei at their forefront.  
A small cry emerged from her lips and she was moving before she could think. A moment later she found herself – to her own surprise – tightly enveloped in his arms, surrounded by several low chuckles unlike she had ever heard before.  
“I guess you only accidentally forgot to tell us of this small reason for you to keep on fighting beside the Horde”, one of the raspy voices commented in an amused tone.  
When she lifted her gaze, a slight shimmer of red had spread across his usually rather pale face beneath the blindfold.  
“I wasn’t sure if I could truly count on it”, he answered quietly, brushing one side of her face gently with an unsteady thumb.  
“Yes, you can”, she assured him in a choked whisper, while waves of happiness flowed through her as she hugged him even tighter.

* * *

**Shadowlands teaser:**

  * How will Levaindil’s relationship with the demon hunter proceed and how does it influence the plans for her future of fighting within the army?
  * If offered a choice will Levaindil choose to remain with Acharin and his demonic side or will she grasp the chance to free him from his inner demon?




End file.
